


there's no kingdom to come

by fs1919



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Fluff, If you squint it could be moonrock or socky? it's a choose your adventure I guess, Literally everyone knows they like each other except THEM - mood, M/M, Mutual Pining, OT6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 07:37:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18027512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fs1919/pseuds/fs1919
Summary: It’s as if the world has stopped and all that is left in the ruins and ashes of everything they once knew is Myungjun and Dongmin.(Somehow, the end is not as turbulent as he thought it’d be. The end of all things is gentle, and it is careful, and it is Dongmin.)





	there's no kingdom to come

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely based off Hozier's Wasteland, Baby! album and the title (and the general atmosphere of this) comes from my fave nihilistic yet romantic bop: "No Plan" - Hozier!
> 
> Enjoy!

“Do you hear that?”

“…The bugs?”

“No, my heart beating for you.”

“Shut up.”

Kim Myungjun watches the blush creep up his neck for a moment, pretty pink coloring the highest points of his cheeks, and he unable to help the small smile tugging at his lips, turning away to hide it, focusing instead on the darkness beyond the front porch. “But, seriously, Dongmin, I think I heard something.”

Lee Dongmin squints, as if it’ll help him see better in the darkness surrounding the little house they’d come across just a couple days ago. Dongmin’s skin glows a bit under the flashlight they’ve hung overhead and the moon looms behind him, framing him perfectly. For a moment, Myungjun wants to immortalize the sight of Dongmin like this, awash in moonlight, framed by the very moon they’ve come to resent. He can almost see himself back at the studio in his university, a smooth paintbrush balanced in his fingers as he mixes the perfect pink to highlight the flush of Dongmin’s cheeks. For a moment, he lets himself remember.

And then, he locks it all way, far far away.

Myungjun tears his gaze off Dongmin, ignoring the way Dongmin had been blinking at him all the while, eyes narrowed in question, head tilted slightly to the side. Myungjun never liked how perceptive Dongmin could be. He might have, if it was _Before_ , but nowadays he just doesn’t like how vulnerable it makes him feel. Vulnerability has become a constant in his life, and Myungjun would very much like to maintain some type of control _somewhere_. So, Myungjun ignores _all_ of that, Dongmin’s raised brows and Myungjun’s errant thoughts, choosing instead to peer at their surroundings.

Myungjun opens his mouth to say something when Dongmin speaks, melodic voice soft as ever, pointed. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen anyone. I don’t think—maybe it’s just an animal?”

Myungjun doesn’t miss the way Dongmin glances to the side, up at the moon, a smoky, hazy thing tainted by spots, _things_ that make Myungjun’s skin crawl— _no one knows what they are,_ Jinwoo had whispered, one night way in the beginning, his eyes big, his mouth pressed into a thin line, the frightened look in his eyes hidden well, despite everything, as the three of them peered up at the sky through the closed blinds in Dongmin’s dorm room.

(In the beginning, they tried to stave off the fear, the uncertainty, by huddling in Dongmin’s living room after they received news of a national emergency, television flickering in the background, muted yet still so loud, somehow. Myungjun threw wild guesses into the silence, of what those things in the sky could be, of what those pitch-black bouts of fog encasing reporters before broadcasts went black, could possible _be_.

“Aliens.” Jinwoo had stated, confidently, arms crossed over his chest.

“Boring.” Myungjun had responded, staring at the bottle of soju Dongmin had handed them. Myungjun only meant to stop by, but after seeing the alerts, Dongmin suggested they stay and see how everything played out, _just in case_ (he had said this with unwavering eyes and a small pout and Myungjun couldn’t really _refuse_ that expression anything—he’d probably rob a bank for Dongmin if he asked Myungjun to with that expression). Myungjun waves a hand at them, “Give me details. Like do they eat toes? Like to lay little babies in your skin? And, bonus points if you can explain the fog on TV? I want citations in APA format.”

“You have a specific word count, too?” Dongmin had inserted, with a roll of his eyes, and slight grin gracing his pretty features. He’d already finished half his soju bottle. Jinwoo seemed to notice Dongmin’s half empty drink, a look of determination, maybe even sadness, crossing his features, before he took a big gulp from his bottle, as well.

His nose scrunched up, grimace twisting his features. The television flickered on and on in the background. Despite it being muted, Myungjun could hear the news anchor speaking urgently in the distance, perhaps from another apartment, where its patrons decided to blast the damn thing. Myungjun played with the neck of his bottle, tapping out a nonsensical rhythm.

“Twenty-five hundred words minimum.” Myungjun responded, after a moment, lifting his eyes to meet Dongmin’s sparkling gaze.

Dongmin grimaced. “That sounds awful.”

Myungjun couldn’t help but snort. Dongmin allowed him a teeny, tiny smile.

There had been a pause. Myungjun had wanted to say something, anything, to fill the awful silence filling up the room, but he cut himself off when there was pounding at the door.

In the beginning, they had tried to stave off the fear, but fear came anyway. It came and it filled them up to the brim, up, up, up, and he had wondered what the _hell_ was going on out there, until he saw Dongmin making his way to the door, lips pressed into a thin line and fingers curled into such tight fists, his knuckles turn white. The yelling is indecipherable beyond the door, jarring. They had tried to pretend that maybe everything happening beyond these apartment walls—it’s not even his apartment, he was just here to pick up some notes he lent Dongmin, Jinwoo tagging along since the two of them were meant to get dinner and drinks after—was of little consequence to them, but it’s hard to ignore the screams and shouts, the three of them staring at the locked door, rooted to their spots. Myungjun wonders if the banging will stop if they hold their breaths long enough. Will everything just _stop_?

After taking a deep, deep breath, eyes filled with determination, Dongmin had been the first to move, stepping forward, grabbing a baseball bat from the coat closet as he took deliberate steps toward the door. Jinwoo had reached out, for just a moment, before he had caught himself. Myungjun’s heart filled with dread as he watched, dread and fear and—

Dongmin opened the door, the baseball bat clutched tightly in his fingers as he raised it above his head, ready to swing when—

Moon Bin had tumbled onto the floor, kicking the door shut behind him, with a loud _slam._ Moon Bin from his history class. Moon Bin from Jinwoo’s dance crew.

Myungjun registered the panting, the way Bin lay sprawled out on the floor, and the way the silence in the apartment stretched on and on, moments later, as he pressed his hand to his heart and tried to calm it.

_It’s just Bin_ , he had told himself, eyes closing for just a moment.

But, still, as a grave silence settled over them, Myungjun’s jokes felt stupid. Suddenly, everything was just fear, fear, _fear,_ and Bin had stared up at the three of them, chest heaving, dark eyes wide with terror, his usually twinkling, smiling eyes dulled by fright, by whatever he had encountered beyond these apartment walls. Bin’s arm was bleeding, thin red scratches forming perfect lines right down the side of his cheek, the deep red color stark against his skin tone. Slowly, he had glanced between Myungjun and Jinwoo before his gaze settled on Dongmin and the _look_ in his eyes had caused something to shift in Myungjun’s chest. Jinwoo’s outstretched arm had dropped to his side, the dull thud echoing all around them.

Myungjun could not look away as Bin whispered, voice hoarse, cracking halfway through a choked, “Dong _min_.”

It was a desperate plea, a question, an anchor, everything, anything, all in one single word, in Dongmin’s name. Myungjun’s heart had tumbled straight in to the pit of his stomach at the look on Bin’s face—he looks so young and Myungjun can’t imagine what he’s seen out there. Dongmin dropped to his knees immediately, fingers hovering over Bin’s injuries before they settled in his hair, pushing the dark, matted strands back, his soft voice melodic as _are you okay_ and _what happened_ and a million other questions spilled from his lips.

Myungjun just exchanged a look with Jinwoo as Bin’s expression crumpled under Dongmin’s gentle touch.)

Myungjun tears his gaze off the darkness, narrowing his eyes at Dongmin. A moment passes, before a flush begins to creep up Dongmin’s neck. He pouts—Myungjun can’t help but glance at the way his mouth purses, for just a moment, only a moment—before Dongmin rubs the back of his neck and says, “The second I said that, a little voice in my head that sounded _just_ like you called me a dumbass.”

“Are you telling me your last braincell sounds like me?” Myungjun can’t help the grin. Dongmin blinks rapidly as Myungjun presses a palm over his own heart, fluttering his eyelashes dramatically, “I’m touched.”

“I guess—wait, brain _cell_?” Dongmin’s eyes widen and Myungjun thinks it’s ridiculously cute. He looks away. “Are you calling me stupid?”

“No, I’m just glad I managed to worm my way into your subconscious.” Myungjun thinks it serves him right for managing to worm his way into _Myungjun’s_ subconscious long before all this ever happened.

Myungjun is still grinning. Dongmin opens his mouth to say something, but then there’s the sound of leaves crunching, a loud _snap_ of a branch. Dongmin clamps his mouth shut, the two of them frozen to their spot.

Myungjun always joked about Dongmin’s tendency to move first, to step into danger immediately, a strange determination always twinkling in his eyes, his lips always pressed into a straight, firm line. Myungjun once told him if they were ever in a horror film—Myungjun blissfully ignores the fact that they kind of _are_ —Dongmin would be the second to die, because he’d go and check for what made the noise in the other room instead of doing the sensible thing and walking away.

(“Why second?” Dongmin had asked, fiddling with the can opener for just a moment before he managed to get it moving.

“Because Bin’s first.” Myungjun said, jabbing a thumb behind him. “He’d totally try to have sex with someone in the haunted cabin or something. I give him like two hours, max, before his dick’s out.”

Jinwoo had snorted behind Myungjun, while Dongmin peered over his shoulder, his lips pulling up into a wide grin, eyes curling into half-moons. Myungjun relished in that grin, how it took up half his face, how his shoulders shook, how—Bin yanked him out of his thoughts, whining loudly, “Leave me out of this.”

“You can’t even deny it, though, can you?” Myungjun grinned over his shoulder.

Dongmin laughed, loud, happy, and Bin grumbled under his breath, yanking off his shoe just to throw it at Myungjun.)

So, Dongmin is the first to move, reaching back to grab a flashlight.

Myungjun holds his breath as Dongmin shines the light through the darkness. It’s unsettling, how despite the bright light of the flashlight and the light of the moon up ahead, it’s still so hard to see into the darkness.

Myungjun had spent a long, long time trying to figure out what the hell they were dealing with.

Everybody had been. The news wouldn’t stop discussing it, until the power went out. And, then, when they found an old radio and working broadcasts, those people wouldn’t stop discussing it either, between announcements of military camp coordinates and an attempt by the President to assure everyone that _they’re going to be fine_. One channel they had tuned the radio to liked to play trot music. Myungjun thought he’d find it calming, but it only served to raise his anxiety, blood thrumming under his skin. It didn’t relax Myungjun one bit, in fact, it only made Myungjun want to run and hide. He wasn’t sure why.

(Jinwoo had turned it off, one night, and looked Myungjun in the eye, expression serious, as he said, “It’s unsettling. It’s too…normal. Can we just—can we stick to news broadcasts?”

Myungjun could only nod, because Jinwoo never asks him of anything. He never did.

So, they settled on rummaging through static filled stations until they found voices, discussing a million and one possibilities of what the hell had turned their world to shit.)

He—and a few other people on the radio—only managed to figure out three undeniable truths. A collective agreement of sorts.

One, whatever those things in the sky were, that hung so close to the moon, floating in and out of the clouds, had to be the cause of all this.

Two, there is something in the black fog and it will kill you.

And, three, do not go outside at night. The dark is _darker_ somehow, opaque, as if it is an entity of its own and light cannot penetrate it, not well. Myungjun assumes whatever is in the fog moves freely at night. At night, even other people, other _humans_ act strangely. _When night falls, be careful_ , the woman’s soothing voice would murmur through the airwaves, just before sunset. The voice reminded Myungjun of his mother.

Eventually, even that, even the radio seemed to go dead, static becoming a constant whenever one of them tried the radio.

(Myungjun cried really hard that night, for the first time since everything began. He tried to keep it down, since they were all sharing the room, fists pressed to his mouth as he muffled the sounds of his sobs, but he knew it didn’t work, not when Dongmin rolled over to face Myungjun, his eyes hidden by the shadows, before he reached out, with hesitant fingers. Myungjun had just stared, tears welling in his eyes, hands pressed to his mouth, before Dongmin had sighed and gently tucked Myungjun’s head under his chin, scooting closer, engulfing Myungjun in warmth that just made him sob harder.)

There’s another snap of a twig and then there’s a _thump_.

A low, whine and a, “ _Shit_ , my bad.”

Dongmin’s grip on Myungjun’s shirt tightens exponentially as he tugs him back, closer to him. It leaves a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Myungjun speaks up then, because he’s never been one for _waiting_ around and while Dongmin liked to move first, Myungjun liked to _speak_ first.

(The time they figured out that the strange humans came out at night, the people who were not friends, who were not the same as the middle aged woman they had come across around noon at a convenience store, rummaging through spilled medicine, who cooed at how handsome they all were before smiling sadly and disappearing forever, nor were they like the band of small children that had refused their offering of a few can foods, or at least _some help_ , showing them instead their packs filled with food and water with gleeful little grins that nearly broke Myungjun’s heart, especially when they walked away and the four of them could only watch them go.

The time they figured out that nothing is to be trusted when night falls was when they were exiting an abandoned corner store just past sunset and a man appeared around the corner, eyes black as night and a farmer’s scythe dragging along the sidewalk, the scraping sound sending shivers down his back. The man’s expression was blank, lips curling up as he kept walking, coming closer and closer and closer, Myungjun’s heart stuttering in his chest, fingers shaking. Jinwoo, Bin, and Dongmin were still in the store. Myungjun decided he should distract him—for their sakes, because the only exit was the front door and the scythe—it was matted in a reddish-brown color that made Myungjun want to puke.

Myungjun had a big mouth and apparently the man did not like it. The way his eyes remained fixed on Myungjun, unblinking as he seemed to barrel towards Myungjun, made Myungjun’s body go into overdrive. He ran, away from the store. He found himself cornered, despite everything, in an empty alleyway, staring down the end of a scythe at black, bottomless eyes. The only reason he hadn’t died, right then and there, was because someone had slammed a metal bar over the man’s head, and, as night fell all around them, prickling at his skin, Myungjun could only stare at the way the man dropped so easily, the way Bin’s chest heaved as he slowly lowered his arms.

The way Jinwoo had clutched Myungjun’s face first, between his palms, his eyes filling with tears, and growled, “Idiot. You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Your favorite idiot.” Myungjun had managed to choke out.

Dongmin’s glare matched Jinwoo’s. Bin murmured, voice cracking slightly, “Don’t ever do that again.”)

“We have weapons. Show yourself.”

They don’t, in fact, have any weapons, but Myungjun hopes his bluff carries through.

There’s a bout of silence, long, too long, until—

Two boys stumble out from the darkness, faces illuminated under the light of Dongmin’s flashlight.

They both look terrible, especially under the harsh light, cuts littering both their faces. One of them, the shorter one, has a black eye, and the taller one is bent over, face twisted in pain. He’s limping, clinging to the smaller boy, Myungjun notices. They both look so, so young, he also notices. Myungjun stiffens at the way the sight of them tugs at his heartstrings.

Dongmin glances over at Myungjun, a quick cursory glance, a wide questioning look in his eyes.

Myungjun whispers, “We can’t.”

The shorter one tilts his chin up, determination and a hint of desperation clouding his tone. He says, “Please, help us. Please.”

“We should.” Dongmin murmurs back, barely inaudible.

They both know the rule: _do not trust anything that comes out at night_.

They exchange one last look, Dongmin’s eyes still so wide, and Myungjun feels a sense of responsibility, right then. Dongmin doesn’t know what to do, hell, Myungjun doesn’t either, but Myungjun is the eldest.

Slowly, Myungjun says, “Stay right there.” He turns to Dongmin, heart fluttering at the way Dongmin’s fingers tense around his t-shirt when he starts to step back. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to wake Jinwoo and Bin up.”

Dongmin nods, stiffly.

Myungjun keeps the door wide open, keeps his eyes on Dongmin and the two boys as he steps backwards into the tiny house and shouts for Jinwoo and Bin, his voice echoing loudly, making Dongmin jump a bit.

His stomach flips with fondness as Bin stumbles in from the living room where they set up camp first, metal crowbar in hand, hair sticking up in all directions, and his eyes half-closed. Jinwoo doesn’t look much better, rubbing at his face, eyes bleary, though weaponless.

Myungjun states, “Team meeting.”

Myungjun watches Bin and Jinwoo peer past Dongmin, at the two boys swaying at the foot of the stairs, both of them wary, and he hopes he hasn’t just fucked up.

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

The short one with the stony stare, angular features, and protective arm wrapped around the taller one introduces himself as Minhyuk. Minhyuk introduces the taller one, too, the one with the baby face and the limp, who practically sinks into the old, lumpy living room couch. His name is Sanha.

Jinwoo throws the three of them a look—they should remain vigilant—but one whine and pout from the tall boy—from _Sanha_ —when his injured ankle knocks against the side of the couch, one measly little _ouch_ and quivering bottom lip, completely throws the four of them off their game.

Myungjun wants to remain tough, but Dongmin’s already sighing and Bin’s tossing a pillow from off the ground at Minhyuk for Sanha to prop his injured ankle up and Jinwoo’s stoic expression falters exponentially. Myungjun just feels tired, arms still crossed over his chest.

Sanha bows his head in thanks, though he can’t seem to get himself to look anyone in the eyes.

Minhyuk’s the one to break the silence, his eyes flickering between Dongmin, Bin, Jinwoo, and Myungjun, carefully sizing them up. There’s a strange look in his eyes, the shade dark and a little unwavering. “What are your names? Who are you?”

Myungjun, personally, thinks they have no obligation to tell them, since _they’re_ the strangers. But, Myungjun notices the bags under the kid’s eyes, as if he hasn’t slept for days, the hollowness to his cheeks, and the scratches and bruises marring his exposed skin. Sanha’s not better off, what with an injured ankle, a split lip, and similar scratches.

So, Myungjun and Jinwoo and Dongmin and Bin all exchange just a brief glance, before they collectively nod and introduce themselves.

Silence stretches on and on until Sanha pipes up, quietly, glancing between Jinwoo and Myungjun, “ _You’re_ the eldest? But, you’re so short.”

Jinwoo blinks. Bin snorts. A tiny, pretty smile flits across Dongmin’s lips. Myungjun mutters, “That _really_ didn’t help your cause, kid.”

“Sorry.” Sanha immediately apologizes, bowing his head.

Myungjun laughs at his expression. Minhyuk’s brows furrow in confusion while Sanha just smiles, though it looks painful because of his split lip.

Everyone is tentative, so tentative, and Myungjun wonders how it came down to this.

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

“Kids.” Dongmin hisses, “They’re just kids.”

Jinwoo’s exhale is deep, exhausted, as he drags his hands through his hair. He’s trying very hard to keep his voice down as he says, “So are we, Min.”

Bin is leaning over the counter, his chin nestled in his palm as he blatantly stares at Minhyuk and Sanha from across the room, his shoulder pressed to Myungjun’s side. He presses closer and Myungjun knows he does that sometimes, when he’s anxious and wants comfort. Bin murmurs, “Sanha’s ankle is probably sprained. We can’t just send them back out there.”

Jinwoo looks to Myungjun, a little helpless, and Myungjun speaks up for him, “They said they don’t remember what happened. And from what they were describing of what they _do_ remember, I’m pretty sure all they remember was the day everything went to shit.”

“Pair that with the fact that they showed up out of nowhere like this and it’s…weird.” Jinwoo nods, smiling gratefully at Myungjun. Jinwoo groans at Dongmin’s scowl and Bin’s apprehensive eyes, “Look. I don’t—I don’t want to send them back out there either, but it’s sketchy. We need to be careful.”

“For what?” There’s an edge to Dongmin’s voice Myungjun hasn’t heard often, a bitterness that has Myungjun reaching out to press a hand to Dongmin’s shoulder. Dongmin shrugs it off and Myungjun ignores the hurt curling up in his chest, right around his heart. “What’s the point of being careful, anyway? The world has gone to absolute shit and we’re just drifting through fucking ghost towns at this point. There’s—”

Dongmin catches himself, when his fiery eyes land on Bin. Myungjun rubs Bin’s back as he curls even further into Myungjun’s side.

Dongmin just resorts to glaring, at Jinwoo and Myungjun, eyes not quite meeting Bin’s.

“I guess that makes sense.” Myungjun inserts, when the silence gets too long and too loud, Myungjun’s blood itching under his skin. “It’s been kinda boring, anyway. They could make things interesting. I mean, we can only read so many books before we lose our damn minds, right?” Myungjun meets Dongmin’s heated expression and adds, “Except for Dongmin, since he actually likes books.”

Myungjun grimaces. The corner of Dongmin’s lips twitch.

“Nerd.” Bin mumbles, after a moment, and Dongmin’s tense shoulders relax a bit.

Dongmin’s quiet when he responds, with no venom nor anger, “Shut up.”

Jinwoo glances between the three of them, silent as he just listens. Even though Myungjun _is_ the oldest, Jinwoo is the one who ends making all the decisions. Myungjun has taken it upon himself to help everyone compromise and, sometimes, he feels bad that he’s left so much responsibility on Jinwoo’s shoulders, but he’s _good_ at it. Myungjun doesn’t trust his own judgment very much, but he trusts Jinwoo’s _a lot_.

“Either they’re lying or they’re not. I don’t know which is worse.” Jinwoo says, after a moment. He glances over his shoulder, at Minhyuk and Sanha speaking quietly to each other on the couch.

 “We could let them stay for a little bit, you know. Just keep an eye on them and let them go when Sanha’s ankle heals or something?” Myungjun tries for a light, airy tone, for optimism. “Besides, they don’t look like too much trouble. I could totally take them.”

Jinwoo snorts, “Could you?”

“Don’t underestimate me. I have a lot of pent up rage waiting to be released and _excellent_ elbow jabbing skills.”

Dongmin winces, “Oh yeah, you do. You have bony elbows.”

Myungjun grins.

Jinwoo groans quietly, pulling Myungjun away from the way Dongmin’s cheek flush a bit. “So, I guess it’s settled?”

Everyone nods.

Jinwoo nods, looking each of them in the eye, “Just…try not to get too attached.”

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

“Do you think Jinwoo knows the meaning of ‘try not to get too attached’?” Myungjun asks, exactly a week later, while he fiddles with the can opener, since it’s his turn to cook dinner—though cooking dinner just means splitting a can or two of food between all of them. Dongmin follows his gaze to the couch, where Jinwoo currently has Sanha in a headlock, grinning widely while Sanha screams at a decibel Myungjun thought only _he_ could reach.

“They’re kind of cute.” Dongmin states, after a moment. “And, no, Jinwoo doesn’t. Clearly.”

“Should we say something?” Myungjun wonders aloud. He sees Minhyuk and Bin out on the porch, Bin fiddling with an old solar-powered tape player Minhyuk had had on him, an old Michael Jackson song drifting in through the open door. Minhyuk moves his feet to the beat, his movements fluid, almost boneless, and Bin is grinning at him like he’s just told him they’re getting actual fried chicken for dinner rather than one tiny cube of Spam. Myungjun just sighs at the sight.

“Is it so bad?” Dongmin asks, after a moment.

“Not really.” Myungjun mumbles, “It’s nice.”

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

Myungjun tries and tries to ignore Sanha while he flips through an old magazine from years ago he found in one of the bedrooms. Sanha, though, is distracting, because not only is he one hundred and eighty something centimeters, but he’s also hopping around Myungjun on one foot, waving his hands as if everything else he’s doing isn’t going to catch Myungjun’s attention.

Myungjun manages to ignore him for about two minutes and twenty-eight seconds—he _counted it_ , too—before Myungjun shuts his magazine with a snap, the sound of the pages fluttering echoing all around them. Dongmin, Jinwoo, Bin, and Minhyuk are currently on a food run and Myungjun was appointed as the designated baby sitter.

“What?” Myungjun stares at the boy.

Sanha blinks at Myungjun’s tone and a small pout forms on his lips. He glances down at his feet and mumbles, quietly, “I was just bored.”

The dejected look that graces Sanha’s features makes Myungjun purse his lips. He should ignore the pang of guilt that flits through his chest. He _should._ If Jinwoo’s going to get attached, then, at least, Myungjun should be the sensible one. At least _one_ of them is supposed to remain sensible in all this, just in case. Myungjun thinks it’s _unfair_ that Sanha’s pouting can pull guilt out of him _that_ easily. To Myungjun’s credit, he was never good at being hard and mean. Neither is Jinwoo, Bin, nor Dongmin.

(They’re not made for an apocalypse, he’s known that from the minute this all started. It’s why he tried so hard to steel himself, to _try_ to maintain rationality in all this. It’s why Jinwoo is like that, too.)

“You should be resting, anyway. Your ankle needs to stay elevated.” Myungjun says, eventually.

Sanha’s pout just deepens.

Jesus _fuck._

Myungjun watches as he sinks into the couch he’s been relegated to since he showed up at their doorstep weeks ago, the lumpy old couch practically swallowing him up, making him look smaller. Myungjun tries to return his attention to the magazine, but it takes about five seconds of unfocused staring at the same colorful page before Myungjun lets out a loud groan.

Sanha looks up, blinking at him owlishly, confused. Myungjun just gets to his feet and rummages through the drawers underneath the television that he had checked the first night they holed up in this house. It takes a moment, but Myungjun finds the box quickly, buried under a pile of report cards and children’s drawings of a family Myungjun took great care not delve too far into—some things are better left unknown, he’s realized, after the many places they’ve spent their nights in. It's easier for his mind if he just doesn't know.

(Jinwoo would sometimes stare at family portraits too hard, as if he was personally apologizing to each member in the photo for intruding. Bin was, surprisingly, like Myungjun. He’d ignore it, laying photographs flat as he passed them by, so the families wouldn’t watch them intrude their spaces, so _they,_ selfishly, wouldn’t have to wonder what happened to these people. Dongmin looked too hard, dug too deep, remembered every single person, committing them to memory, and Myungjun wanted to tell him, many times, to stop, because it’s too painful and unnecessary, but everyone coped differently. So Myungjun never said a word.)

Sanha’s eyes widen as Myungjun spins, holding up the box in his hands a little too triumphantly. “Jenga!” Sanha shouts with glee.

“Jenga!” Myungjun screams back. He can’t help it.

Sanha laughs, delighted, and Myungjun drags the coffee table in front of the couch, grinning as he dumps the blocks on the counter.

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

“Maybe it’s a coping mechanism.” Dongmin murmurs, helping Myungjun dig up the hole he spotted in one of the tiny houses they passed by while in town. Myungjun lets his gaze settle on Dongmin’s glistening skin. Sweat gathers at his brow, under his jaw, and Dongmin pulls off his zip-up sweater—it belongs to Bin, Myungjun’s brain supplies, and Myungjun isn’t quite sure where the bitter feeling _comes_ from—tossing it aside. His skin is a little tan from all the time they’ve spent outside. Myungjun tries not to stare, but Dongmin looks so fucking _good_. “I’d say take a picture, but we don’t have cameras anymore, huh?”

Myungjun jumps at Dongmin’s voice, at the way Dongmin meets his gaze and grins, eyes curling into curves, face scrunching up. Myungjun rubs the back of his neck, focusing instead on digging out the hole. He completely ignores Dongmin’s call out, brushing the dirt off his hands as he says, “If it _is_ a coping mechanism then…what _happened_ to them?”

Myungjun doesn’t let his brain dwell on the possibilities, the answers to that question. The thought itself is already so morbid, but Myungjun doesn’t want to anger himself with the thought of someone traumatizing Minhyuk and Sanha enough that they had to repress those memories.

Dongmin lets out a soft, gentle laugh that echoes around them. Myungjun glances up, frowning. “What?”

“I don’t think Jinwoo and Bin are the only ones getting too attached.” Myungjun briefly wonders how the hell Dongmin is so good at figuring out what he’s thinking.

“…Shut up. What about you?”

“I am. But,  _I’m_ not the one denying it the attachment, Jun.”

Myungjun just purses his lips and lets out a soft _humph_. He can _feel_ Dongmin’s gaze digging holes into the side of his head. Myungjun focuses, instead, on the hole, digging in silence until he hears a loud _clang_.

Myungjun grins, throwing his hands in the air. He turns to Dongmin, who is already at his side, hands reaching into the hole, brushing Myungjun’s fingers as he brushes at the dirt, a little frantic, revealing a metal lid. Dongmin is grinning, his mouth wide, an upside-down triangle shape that takes up his whole face, that Myungjun thinks is the most beautiful thing in the world. Hypothetically.

Eventually they manage to yank it out of the ground and Myungjun’s the one to unscrew the lid, the smell of kimchi hitting him immediately. His stomach growls instantly, his mouth watering, and Myungjun’s hit with a million and one memories of _Before_., of his mother, of meals with his friends, of visiting his second boyfriend's house and being  _accepted_ with such welcoming arms. Myungjun thinks he’s going to cry.

“I _told_ you.” Myungjun exclaims, beckoning Dongmin closer. “I _told_ —shit, are you crying?”

Myungjun freezes. Dongmin sits there, beside the big pot—there’s enough to last a _while_ , oh _God_ —cross-legged, his sparkling eyes glassy, his fingers tangled in his lap, the highest points of his cheeks dusted pink, as he stares at the pot of kimchi. His chest is rising and falling much too quickly and there is a dazed look in his eyes, a small smile still tugging on his lips, his eyes watering. The smallest sound, a tiny sob, falls past his lips and Myungjun doesn’t even think, moving closer, wrapping an arm around Dongmin’s waist.

Dongmin shakes his head, quickly, rubbing at his eyes, but the tip of his nose is turning red and Myungjun rubs soothing circles along his back. Dongmin opens his mouth and closes it, once, twice, three times, until he manages, voice cracking in a way that _tears_ Myungjun’s heart in half. “It’s—I’m—this is stupid. I’m b—being s…so stupid.”

Myungjun has never, not once, seen Dongmin cry before. Not the night when someone tried to break into the apartment they holed themselves up in on their way out of Seoul and nearly managed to choke Jinwoo to death. Not when they heard over the radio that the military bases were overrun. Not when he told Myungjun about how he was supposed to go to the beach with his ex-girlfriend-turned-best-friend Namjoo just a day before the national emergency was announced, how he wasn’t sure if she was okay or not, how he started talking about all his friends, about his brother studying in China, with smile stuck across his face, unwavering despite everything. Dongmin never cries. Myungjun doesn’t either, except for that one night. Maybe that’s why they spent so much time together, because they were meant to be pillars for when Jinwoo got too overwhelmed by his emotions or when Bin needed someone to hug.

Myungjun shakes his head, reaching up to gently brush away his tears. “No, you’re not being stupid.”

Dongmin tries to smile, tries to be reassuring, strong, he realizes, but his face crumbles and he hunches over, shoulders folding in on themselves. Myungjun thinks it’s so heartbreaking; he tries to make himself look so small. He presses his face into Myungjun’s chest and he lets out a whimper, dampening Myungjun’s shirt.

“Just let it out.” Myungjun whispers, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Dongmin’s soft hair. He writes letters along Dongmin’s spine—words he does not focus on, because he was never one to focus on his Freudian slips, especially not now, not in this world—and he wraps him up in his arms. Dongmin curls further into him, making himself so so tiny, and Myungjun murmurs, _it’s okay_ every time Dongmin’s cries reach his ears, blinking away the sting behind his own eyes as he holds Dongmin as close as he can.

Myungjun doesn’t know how much time passes, just that the sun has started to set and they should head back soon. That’s when Dongmin pulls back, his eyes red, a little puffy, a little pink, but still so pretty. He looks dazed, still, like the crying took a lot out of him. Myungjun reaches up and carefully, with just his fingertips, brushes a few pieces of his overgrown bangs out of his eyes before he wipes at his tears.

There’s a long silence that stretches between them and Myungjun glances down, only to blink, startled, when he realizes that Dongmin is staring directly at him, gaze unwavering, watchful, almost fond. His heart skips a couple beats, stuttering, his fingers twitching against Dongmin’s cheeks.

Dongmin’s eyes flicker down.

Myungjun holds his breath.

The silence stretches, on and on and on, but neither of them move. Myungjun could count Dongmin’s eyelashes. He could make _blueprints_ out of each and every one of Dongmin’s features. Dongmin opens his mouth and Myungjun watches the movement, watches as his tongue darts out and wets his lips.

Myungjun could lean in. He knows he could just _lean_ in, just a bit, and press his lips to Dongmin’s and then—and then—

Myungjun scoots back.

(Then what? Dongmin had said it himself. There’s nothing left, no more races to run, no more places to go, there’s nothing, and so what will they do? And if they were back in university, back _Before_ , he and Dongmin would never look at each other like this. He'd keep pining and Dongmin would keep looking right past him. Right now, Dongmin is settling and Myungjun hates that that’s all they _can_ do anymore, because the world has gone to absolute shit.)

He shoots to his feet. Dongmin tilts his head back, still sitting cross-legged on the ground, blinking rapidly up at Myungjun, brows furrowed together. Myungjun reaches for the lid of the pot of kimchi, closing it tightly, before he squats, lugging it up with grunt. He can barely look at Dongmin when he says, “We should be heading back now. I can’t wait to see everyone flip their shit when they see this.”

Slowly, Dongmin nods, pushing himself to his feet, frowning as he grabs his hoodie, slipping it on.

Dongmin is silent as he easily plucks the giant pot out of his arms, but he doesn’t say anything the entire walk back, no matter how much Myungjun tries to crack a joke to lighten the mood.

Dongmin doesn’t say anything even when Bin shouts _holy fucking shit_ the minute he sees the metal pot in Dongmin’s arms nor when Sanha hops around on his uninjured leg excitedly at the sight. Dongmin doesn’t say a word. Myungjun’s chest tightens.

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

“You okay?” Myungjun blinks at Minhyuk, watching the way he pulls his knees to his chest and peers out over the porch, at the darkness settling around them. It’s Minhyuk and Myungjun’s turn to keep watch tonight.

For a moment, Minhyuk’s eyes look too dark, too inky black, but then he blinks sleepily and mumbles, “I wish I could remember something.”

Myungjun blinks at him, for just a moment, and Minhyuk looks so small, so tired, and Myungjun finds himself giving in almost immediately, plopping down onto the bench beside Minhyuk. Minhyuk leans back, his head dropping back on the window behind him, before he glances sideways at Myungjun, as Myungjun says, hesitant, though he makes sure to keep a reassuring smile on his face, “Maybe not remembering is for the best.”

“Is it really, though?” Minhyuk purses his lips, closing his eyes briefly, “It’s a little…scary. There are gaps in my memories, and I don’t know what happened to me.”

“You don’t have to downplay it. It’s not just a little scary. It must be terrifying.” Myungjun mumbles. Minhyuk nods, sheepish. Myungjun adds, “But, I mean, you’re okay now. Maybe your brain is just trying to protect you.”

Minhyuk bites his lip, nodding slowly. “But…Bin said there’s something out there, that it comes out at night. I don't understand how we didn't die out there.”

Myungjun doesn’t understand either. He’d been wondering the same thing this entire time. They all did. But Minhyuk looks so tired, so stressed, his eyes sweeping over the darkness beyond the porch. Myungjun peers at the way Minhyuk’s brows furrow with how hard he seems to be thinking, trying to will himself to remember, and Myungjun can’t help but reach out and smooth down his messy hair, patting him gently. Minhyuk blinks rapidly at the sudden touch, glancing sideways at Myungjun. He doesn’t push Myungjun away, at least. Myungjun just smiles, mumbles, “It’ll all come back to you when you’re ready. Don’t force it, kid.”

Myungjun notices the way Minhyuk’s tense shoulders slump, the way he presses his back against the house, nodding to himself.

(Myungjun thinks, _shit_ , because he is _way_ too attached.)

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

“There’s something wrong with Dongmin.” Myungjun jumps at the voice, yelping as he a few cans of food. The resounding _thud_ echoes around them as Myungjun turns to give Bin a halfhearted glare.

Bin ignores it completely, arms crossed over his chest, eyes accusing. Myungjun bends over, gathering the couple cans of beans he’s managed to scavenge in the mess of the grocery store, before he straightens up and peers up at Myungjun, “…Okay?”

“Fix it.” Bin says, quite bluntly.

Myungjun frowns, doesn’t bother telling Bin that Dongmin has been avoiding him since the Kimchi Incident and Myungjun’s kinda-sorta miffed about it because Myungjun hadn’t _done_ anything except prove his theory about buried kimchi, obviously left to ferment before everything happened, to be true. Myungjun scowls, “Fix it? I didn’t even do anything.”

Bin has the audacity to look disbelieving. “You’ve literally never been more wrong.” He reaches out and plucks the cans out of Myungjun’s hands, stuffing it into the backpack he has swung over one shoulder, “You’re _always_ doing things. Especially to Dongmin.”

Myungjun comes to a half in the middle of what he thinks was once the bread aisle. He stares at Bin, “What does _that_ mean?”

Bin just reaches out and pokes Myungjun’s cheek. Myungjun scowls and Bin pokes him again. This time, Myungjun can’t help the slight smile. Bin can’t help his own widening grin either. At least until Bin sighs, loudly, as if he’s got the weight of the whole world on his shoulders, eyeing Myungjun like that weight is somehow _Myungjun's_ fault. “Just fix him, please. I miss his smiles.”

Myungjun blinks, watching as Bin glances away, still frowning, before he gets distracted by a loaf of bread, grimacing the moment he notices how moldy it had gotten within the packet.

“I miss you guys hanging out.”

Myungjun’s startled at that. He pauses, frown deepening. “…What?”

Bin sighs, swiveling on his heels to face Myungjun fully. He says, a little too carefully, “You’re both always laughing together and it’s…it’s comforting. I miss it.” Bin sighs, “And I don’t like dealing with a sulking Dongmin. He’s too clingy.”

“That’s funny coming from _you_ , the King of Clingy.” Myungjun retorts.

“Okay, but everyone loves my cuddles.”

Myungjun taps his chin, “Do we?”

“You’d better.” Bin states, “I mean, you guys get to touch all _this_ for free.”

Bin gestures at himself, wiggling his hips and winking. Myungjun gags dramatically.

Bin laughs as he tries to put Myungjun in a headlock. Myungjun will always deny that Bin succeeds in the headlock. After they get everything they can, they head out and meet up with a an exhausted Minhyuk, his momentarily too-dark eyes lingering on the way Bin has an arm slung over Myungjun, while Bin ignores the fact that he’s practically engulfing Myungjun in his sweaty, warm, overgrown limbs.

Myungjun’s chest fills with a gentle sort of fondness when the house comes into view while Bin remains quiet, shoving him into the house first, gaze pointed.

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

It happens in the quietest moment, at night when soft snoring settles over them and Myungjun has to fight to keep his eyes open, when Dongmin is fiddling with the radio once again, white noise a soothing background noise that only makes Myungjun’s eyes heavier.

Dongmin looks over at Myungjun and Myungjun struggles to stay awake.

Dongmin stares and stares and something about his gaze, about the way the lamp overhead and the moonlight makes the stars in his eyes shine brighter than all the universes combined, about the way his overgrown hair is still wet from his bath earlier, sticking to his forehead, about _Dongmin_ , makes Myungjun’s heartbeat quicken. It’s hard to push down those feelings, especially when he’s so tired. Myungjun can’t control the way his cheeks heat up under Dongmin’s gaze. He can’t control much of anything, right now, right here. It’s as if the world has stopped, has truly come to an end and all that is left in the ruins and ashes of everything they once knew is Myungjun and Dongmin.

(Somehow, the end is not as turbulent as he thought it’d be. The end of all things is gentle, and it is careful, and it is Dongmin.)

Dongmin is settling against is side, reaching out to tilt Myungjun’s head so it rests on his shoulder. His palm is warm, but calloused, different from the softness it had in the beginning of _After,_ and it remains, a careful weight on his head.

Myungjun struggles to stay awake.

Dongmin whispers, “Sleep. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice is so quiet, even to his own ears. He wonders if Dongmin will hear it, but, then again, they are lingering at the end and they are the only ones here.

“For what?” Dongmin’s hand drops from Myungjun’s head.

Myungjun mumbles, though his words slur due to his exhaustion, “Bin told me you were upset. I think he implied it was with me? So, I’m sorry for whatever I did. Kinda miss you validating my bad puns, Min.”

There’s a pause, a silence, too long, Myungjun’s foggy brain tells him, _too long_. But then, he says, too cheerful, “I wasn’t upset with you. Bin’s just…he’s nosy. ‘S fine, Jun.”

“It is?” Myungjun tilts his head back to blink up at Dongmin’s face. His breath catches in his throat because, even from this angle, Dongmin is beautiful. Myungjun had spent so long burying that thought away, that it comes back with a vengeance meant to tear him apart from the inside.

“Yeah. I don’t think I could ever actually be upset with you, anyway.”

Too bad Myungjun is half asleep when Dongmin’s words fully register. His heart only skips a couple beats rather than thousands.

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

They see smashed windows at an empty house just a few blocks away from their own guest house. It wasn’t there last time. Minhyuk and Myungjun stand near the gates of the empty house and Myungjun peers up at its sagging form, skin prickling at the way it looms over them. When Myungjun turns to Minhyuk, his eyes are—they’re _dark_. Myungjun doesn’t remember Minhyuk’s eyes ever being such a dark color.

Myungjun blinks. Minhyuk blinks.

His eyes are back to normal. Myungjun wonders if he’s imagined it.

Jinwoo looks wary as he shuts the gate of the house behind him, stuffing an empty food container into his bag (“For the kimchi.” He had explained, even though no one asked), before Jinwoo had said, “I think it’s time to move on.”

It’s not much of a question, but Myungjun still says, “Okay. Yeah.”

Later, while they’re packing their things, Sanha fiddles with the couch pillow on his lap, watching them flit about.

Jinwoo seems to notice his fiddling. He pauses, peering down at the kid, “What’s up?”

Sanha waves his wrapped ankle around in the air. Myungjun can’t help the smile. Sanha says, “My ankle’s pretty much healed.”

“Yeah.” Jinwoo nods, waiting for Sanha to elaborate.

There’s frustration coloring Sanha’s features as he just stares at Jinwoo. And then, “Do I really have to say it?”

“Say what?”

Myungjun speaks up, without looking up from where he’s folding a few extra pairs of clothes he found in one of the upstairs rooms. “That’s up to you guys. If you—if you want to stick with us, then I don’t think anyone will mind. If not, you can…go.”

(God, they really fucked up with the whole _don’t get too attached_ thing, didn’t they? They’re shit at this.)

Sanha stares. Minhyuk’s eyes flicker, so fast, Myungjun is sure he’s imagining it, which is bad because he’s the eldest, a pillar, and if he starts crumbling from weird hallucinations then where does that put everyone else?

Jinwoo’s eyes widen at Myungjun’s words, his head whipping to the side, focused on Sanha and Minhyuk. He seems to finally remember the ultimatum they had given them when they first took them in.

“It doesn’t bother you anymore? How we got here?”

“It’s not the weirdest thing that’s happened around here. What with the possible alien ships and murder fog and everything.” Bin says, gesturing vaguely around them.

“True.” Minhyuk snorts at Bin’s nonchalance. Still, he exchanges a glance with Sanha, who is both grinning and halfway to tears, and they seem to decide something right then. Minhyuk beams as he says, “Okay, we’ll stay.”

Bin grins, tackling Minhyuk in a big hug immediately, nearly kicking Sanha in the face in the process. Sanha screams and Jinwoo lets out a loud laugh, the kind that reminds Myungjun of _Before,_ when he’d have to suppress his laughter at the library until the librarian would decide to kick them both out. Myungjun grins, turning to Dongmin, only to redden because Dongmin’s eyes are pinned on Myungjun, lingering, his gaze so _tender_ it nearly knocks the air out of Myungjun’s lungs. He chokes on his laughter. No one notices, except Dongmin. He just gives him a big, shit-eating grin.

“So much for not getting attached.” Myungjun speaks up, tearing his eyes off Dongmin first.

Jinwoo laughs, “Yeah, that was never going to work.”

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

“I have something for you.”

Dongmin doesn’t meet his eyes. He’s shy.

Myungjun grins, making grabby hands for whatever Dongmin’s hiding behind his back. “I love gifts.”

Dongmin laughs, “I know.”

Dongmin is so shy and Myungjun thinks it’s so _cute_. He relishes in the flush pinking his cheeks as Dongmin presents him with the gift—a blank notebook and pencils. _Nice_ pencils. Myungjun wonders where the hell Dongmin managed to find those.

“You always used to carry that sketchbook around back—” He cuts himself off, rubbing the back of his neck as he shuffles from foot to foot. They’ve always done their best to keep _Before_ out of their conversations. “I thought you might want to draw again.”

It’s thoughtful. It’s so fucking thoughtful and if the world hadn’t gone to shit and Myungjun hadn't forced himself to forget everything and everyone he loved _Before_ just to keep himself sane, he’d start crying at how wonderful of a present this was. But, Myungjun doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to draw again. Still, despite that, despite everything, Myungjun’s chest feels like it’ll burst from the onslaught of emotions. Slowly, Myungjun takes the notebook and pencil pack from Dongmin, their fingers brushing.

Myungjun swallows the lump in his throat as he says, “Is this the only one you found?”

Dongmin shakes his head, “I found another one. I meant to give it to you when you run out of pages in this one.”

So fucking _thoughtful_. Myungjun thinks he’s going to suffocate from the feelings building in his chest.

“Keep it.” Myungjun says.

Dongmin pauses, raising a brow.

Myungjun opens the pack of pencils and pulls out half of them, holding them out. “Keep it.” He repeats, firmly. “You always liked to write in your planners back then. Keep it and do that. We can do it together.”

“I…together, huh?” Dongmin bites his lip, eyes flickering up to the sky. Myungjun wonders why he gets to do that, as if he is lamenting God, when _Myungjun_ wants to do that and has wanted to do that since he met Dongmin in university years ago. “Would you like that?”

Myungjun nods, suddenly breathless, “Very much.”

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

The next morning, they head out. They never once had a destination in mind and Myungjun never suggests discussing it, because then they’d have to admit that they don’t really _have_ anywhere to go, that they’re just meant to wander aimlessly until death takes them, one way or another. Settle, scavenge, check their surroundings, move when the darkness brings something other than stillness. They each choose a direction and play rock-paper-scissors to decide who wins the bid.

They usually just walk and walk until they find some place secluded, usually a house or a small apartment. Only Bin ever actually _looks_ for anything while they walk. Bin is constantly looking.

He overhears him talking to Minhyuk, a few hours in on their walk down a highway that looks like it’s come straight out of a horror movie—abandoned cars are stalled bumper to bumper along the road and personal belongings are strewn all about. Bin mentions Sua and Seungkwan and Mingyu and Eunbi, his sister and his best friends and his girlfriend, and Myungjun’s heart always feels like it’s being torn out of his chest whenever he hears Bin mention them.

(“I know it’s stupid, hoping they’re still out there somewhere. But, if I give up on the thought of them then…I don’t think—I don’t think I could keep going.” Bin had said once, with a small sad smile and his eyes pinned up above, the two of them sweating under the heat of the summer sun. “Thinking about them, looking for them, it keeps me going.”

“What about us?” Myungjun had joked, after the silence lasted too long.

“Yeah, I mean… _yeah_ , I love you guys so much.” Bin had reddened then and it wasn’t because of the heat. Myungjun cooed _loudly._ Bin swatted at him. Then he deadpanned, “It’s just… nothing will ever be as motivating as the thought of my parents kicking my ass into the next century for not protecting my sister.”

Myungjun had laughed, muttered, “That’s fair.”

Ever since then, none of them had the heart to stop him. Everyone coped differently.)

So, they walk, and Minhyuk listens intently to Bin and Myungjun notices a strangeness in Minhyuk’s eyes, frowns as he starts to stare, when suddenly something brushes the back of Myungjun’s hand.

Myungjun turns. Dongmin smiles.

Myungjun looks down. The tips of Dongmin’s fingers dance across the back of Myungjun’s hand. It is deliberate. Why is it deliberate?

Myungjun looks back up.

Dongmin’s smile is sweeter than honey. Myungjun hates how hot his face is.

He hates when they take a rest and Sanha takes one look at his red face and _laughs_ , a knowing look in his eyes. Myungjun threatens bodily harm, but Sanha takes refuge behind Jinwoo, which is a funny sight because Jinwoo’s frame barely covers half of Sanha’s body.

Jinwoo laughs at him, too, and holds out his water, his grin too wide as he says, tone pointed, “Someone’s thirsty.”

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

Bin scowls when Myungjun looks Dongmin up and down, snorting at his outfit and the ridiculous mix of prints he’s thrown together for his food run. “Sexy.” Myungjun mumbles, as sarcastically as he can.

“Get a room.” Bin states. Sanha guffaws, like a goddamn seal. Minhyuk bounces on his toes, grinning so brightly.

Dongmin proceeds to wink at Myungjun.

Myungjun huffs, resisting the urge to tell them all to fuck off.

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

By the fifth time Jinwoo mutters, _Just kiss already. You’re both so annoying_ , Myungjun decides he’s going to kill someone. Or just walk right into the black fog, wherever the hell it’s gone.

Jinwoo repeats himself a sixth time, wagging his brows at Myungjun and Dongmin as they slip back into the little corner house they’ve found, when it’s his turn to take over lookout duty.

Myungjun threatens to punch Jinwoo. Jinwoo laughs in his face, throws him a couple finger gun and winks, before he disappears out the door.

Myungjun groans. Dongmin just snickers, pulling Myungjun back to the room they’re all staying in.

Myungjun lets Dongmin pull him down to into the sheets and into his side and he goes to sleep wondering if, maybe, he _should_ kiss Dongmin.

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

He can’t stop thinking about it. He can’t stop thinking. On one hand, he’s afraid of making Dongmin feel like he has an obligation to be with him, only because there are literally no more options left. He doesn’t want Dongmin to _settle_ for him. Not when the rest of their lives is just filled with settling, with just getting by and surviving the end of everything. On the other hand, Myungjun can’t stop thinking about Dongmin, about his twinkling eyes and his gentle touches, his laughter, the sarcastic little quips he throws at Myungjun, eyes glinting, the way he indulges Myungjun in every stupid joke Myungjun has ever made. Not even Jinwoo does the latter and Jinwoo has been his ride or die best friend since they were children.

He can’t stop thinking about it, even as they sit together on a rooftop, overlooking a small town Myungjun had forgotten the name of. They’re staying in the apartment below, since it was stocked to the brim with canned foods, for some reason. They had been cautious, though, waiting to see if anyone would come back for the place as they settled elsewhere. No one ever did. Myungjun found a handwritten letter on the kitchen counter and refused to read it. Dongmin read the whole thing and Myungjun saw the sadness in his eyes as he did, as he promptly took the letter up to the roof, Myungjun following after him.

Dongmin had carefully folded it up into a delicate airplane and Myungjun had felt a heavy weight in his chest as he watched Dongmin launch the paper plane off the rooftop. Myungjun had pressed his fingers to Dongmin’s, held on tight, and Dongmin had allowed him a careful, feeble smile back.

And, now, they sit, cross-legged, far away from the edge, atop a small wooden sitting area situated at the center of the roof, surrounded by empty clotheslines. Myungjun can almost imagine sheets pinned to the clotheslines, fluttering in the wind, can almost imagine people sitting where they are and sharing food and laughter and stories. Myungjun can’t stop thinking.

The sun feels nice against Myungjun’s skin. He lies back, feet dangling off the edge of the platform. After a moment, Dongmin joins him, their sides pressed together. Myungjun’s cheeks burn at the blush.

“That one looks like Jinwoo.” Dongmin says, after a moment, gesturing up at the clouds. Myungjun squints, before he snorts.

“Oh, my God. You’re right.”

Dongmin shifts then. Myungjun turns his head, only to blink rapidly at the sight of Dongmin on his side, head resting in his palm, a small smile playing on his lips, all while he looks down at Myungjun. Myungjun tears his gaze away, pointing at the sky.

“That one looks like Naruto.” Myungjun doesn’t look at Dongmin, but he can feel his eyes on him, burning holes into his face. Myungjun starts to ramble, mumbles, “God, I miss Naruto. I never thought I would, but I was binging it after you introduced it to me and I never got to finish it and now I never will get to finish it. Isn’t that depressing? How there are so many things we won't ever know the endings of?”

Dongmin just hums, noncommittal.

Myungjun finally gives in, finally looks over at him again.

Dongmin is _still_ staring down at him, still propped up on his side in a way that has Myungjun blushing way too much. “Why are you staring?” Myungjun mumbles, blinking at Dongmin. This feels strange, too intimate. Myungjun’s heart won’t settle. Dongmin grins as if he _knows_ that, as if that’s his _plan_ or something.

“I like staring at you.”

“What—”

“I want to kiss you.”

Myungjun’s heart nearly flies out of his chest. He chokes on his own spit, sitting up quickly. Dongmin sits up, too, his eyes following Myungjun's movements.

“You’re—you’re just saying that. Because the world has ended and we’re stuck with each other and you're probably horny and—”

“You really _are_ a fucking idiot.” Dongmin interrupts him, “Bin was right.”

“Why are you talking about me with Bin?” Myungjun narrows his eyes. Dongmin moves closer, so close that Myungjun finds he wants to scoot back. But he doesn’t, to maintain some sort of dignity and control.

Dongmin looks so flustered, so frustrated, his fingers settling in his own hair as he tugs at it, sighing loudly, as if Myungjun is daft or something. Myungjun frowns and Dongmin says, bites out really, clearly exasperated. “And you say _I’m_ the one with one braincell. Who else am I going to rant at about how oblivious you have been to every single fucking thing  _ever_?”

“I am _not_ oblivious.”

“You—yes, you _are_. You never get it.”

“Get _what_?”

“I _like_ you, Myungjun. You—you’re—I’ve liked you since _B_ _efore._ Practically since the day we _met._ ”

Myungjun thinks his brain is going to short circuit. He tries to understand, but he never saw anything other their friendliness from Dongmin, aside from that moment after they found the kimchi. Myungjun thought _that_ had happened because of the heat of the moment, because they’ve been lonely and it nearly lead to something. This just—Myungjun stutters, “Since we’ve _met_?”

“Yes. Since fucking  _forever._ ” Dongmin exclaims, his voice bouncing off into the sky, filling the clouds to the brim, settling over the empty ghost town. “Why else do you think I asked to borrow your notes so many times? You _don’t_ write good notes, Myungjun. No one can read your handwriting! Half of the time you'd just half-ass everything and draw doodles of random things!”

Myungjun blinks and blinks. All he can say is, “What?”

His thoughts have gone fuzzy, a warm, fondness building at the pit of his stomach akin to hope. It’s scary, to feel hope after living in desolation for so long. He is speechless, for once in his life, he has no idea what to say.

“I’ve liked you for—for so so long and—” Dongmin quiets down, then, just gazing at Myungjun for a moment, with the utmost affection, a longing, that reminds Myungjun of everything he’s ever felt for Dongmin. It’s all laid out for him, all of Dongmin’s feelings, his vulnerabilities. Dongmin looks at Myungjun as if he hangs the stars. Myungjun stares back, unable to tear himself away, this time, as Dongmin tacks on, so softly, “I don’t think I know how to stop.”

Myungjun lets out a deep, staggering breath, unable to stop his thoughts from tumbling out, unchecked, scattered. Dongmin just listens intently as Myungjun says, “The fact that the world has—we’re living in the end, Dongmin. It doesn’t scare you? I don’t want you to just…to feel like you need to settle because, at this point, it’s either me or Jinwoo or Bin, which, like, I _get_ it, I’m obviously the better option between the three of us, have you _seen_ me—but you—is this something you want, or something you think should happen because the world is over and there’s nothing left?”

Dongmin reaches out, with tentative fingers, and squeezes Myungjun’s limp hands, filling the gaps between his fingers. “I _am_ scared. But, shit, Myungjun, even if this is the end of the world and all that’s left is _nothing_ you just…you make it so much better. You’re like…this light and I look forward to seeing you every single day. Of course, I’m not _settling_ , idiot. I—did my whole speech about how much I liked you since the beginning just go right over your head?”

Myungjun blinks, takes in Dongmin’s words, takes in his fingers tangled in his. After a moment of trying to find his words, Myungjun manages, “No, I heard you. I just want to hear you say it again.”

Dongmin giggles, low and soft, infectious, and Myungjun’s heart soars as he giggles, too. Dongmin indulges him, “I like you so fucking much, since way before the world went to shit and probably for the rest of our time here. Hopefully even the next life, too. You just make me so _happy_ , Jun.”

Myungjun’s thinks he might cry at how sincere Dongmin is, leaning so close, eyes flickering between Myungjun’s, never once wavering. Slowly, Myungjun leans closer, whispers, “I’ve liked you since before, too, so much that I had to force myself to keep it all in. I think…I might even love you, but I don’t know.”

“It’s okay. There’s no rush. We’re practically in limbo anyway, aren’t we?” Dongmin’s breath tickles Myungjun’s cheek. They’re sitting so close. Who would have known that understated nihilism could sound so _alluring_?

“That’s hot.” Myungjun mumbles, unable to stop the small smile. “The casual reminder of the inevitability of doom. _Super_ sexy.”

Dongmin rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t get to respond, not when Myungjun leans in, frowning at the height difference that’s _still_ there, despite them sitting, before he reaches up and pulls Dongmin down to meet him halfway. Dongmin lets out a quiet laugh against his lips and Myungjun’s heart feels like it’s trying to flutter straight out of his chest. The kiss is clumsy at first, stumbling as they try to catch themselves. Myungjun crawls into Dongmin’s lap and Dongmin finds purchase in his hair, on his waist, and Dongmin is still smiling so widely as he finds a comfortable rhythm. Myungjun melts a bit, overwhelmed by reality, by how much he’s wanted this for so so long. Dongmin tugs at Myungjun’s bottom lip and Myungjun hums, grinning, his fingers curling at the base of Dongmin’s neck. Dongmin lets out a soft whine, a chuckle resounding deep in his chest. They pull apart gasping for air, Dongmin’s hands settling at Myungjun’s waist, Myungjun’s arms circling Dongmin’s neck. Myungjun can feel Dongmin’s breath tickling his skin. Dongmin smiles up at him, so tender, doting, before he presses a single kiss to Myungjun’s jaw, smiling all the while.

He says, “I’ve waited so long for this.”

“Me, too.” Myungjun says, laughing lightly. At this moment, under the warm summer sun, wrapped up in Dongmin’s arms as he presses smiling kisses along his skin, Myungjun realizes he is the happiest he’s been in a long, long time.

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

“About _time_.” Bin shouts when they return, Myungjun’s cheeks seemingly permanently flushed. Dongmin’s lips are swollen from all the kisses, his cheeks red, and Myungjun thinks he looks pretty. He tells him so and Dongmin flushes redder.

“If only money was still a thing.” Jinwoo mumbles, groaning from his spot on the couch in the living room. He flops onto the couch, heaving out a loud sigh, “ _So_ many people owe me money for this.”

“You made a _bet_ on us?” Myungjun glares at Jinwoo.

“Makes sense.” Minhyuk inserts, snorting, his eyes flickering for just a moment, from black to brown, “The unresolved sexual tension between you two could have fueled five dramas.”

Sanha just nods, sagely. “ _And_ a couple movies.”

~.~.~.~.~

They wander for a long, long time. Myungjun loses track of the days. He finds, though, that he does not care too much, not when he has Dongmin to kiss, to cuddle until Jinwoo threatens to kick them if they don’t stop. Dongmin murmurs, _you’re so good_ against the skin of his neck and Myungjun shushes him, pressing kisses wherever he can until Dongmin is making noises he’s never heard from him before. Maybe, Myungjun really _does_ love Dongmin.

So much time passes and Myungjun assumes he has time. They’re in limbo, of course.

But, limbo has a time limit. He runs out of time, quickly. He just doesn’t realize it until it’s too late.

It’s late at night. Minhyuk is taking watching, since they’ve found a tiny shed that had been remodeled into a little one-bedroom guest house in the middle of nowhere and they don’t need more than one person taking watch when they’d just be sitting by the window in the room everyone else slept in.

It’s so late at night when Myungjun hears gasping sobs wracking through the room, tearing him out of the fog of asleep immediately, because someone’s _crying,_ and he hates when any of them cries.

Myungjun sits up, rubbing his eyes as they adjust to the darkness.

He squints, notices Dongmin shifting and Jinwoo sitting up as well. Bin tends to sleep like a log, but even he’s squirming.

He looks over, between Jinwoo and Bin, and Sanha is sitting up, knees pressed to his chest, forming a tight little ball of tension, his face buried in his knees. The sounds are coming from him. Jinwoo reaches out to comfort Sanha, but somehow it only makes Sanha cry harder. Myungjun crawls over, right beside Dongmin and Bin, and reaches out for Sanha, stroking his hair.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Jinwoo’s voice is still gravely with sleep, but he looks alert, worried as Myungjun feels.

“It’s coming.” Sanha’s voice cracks, but his words ring sharp, cutting through their sleepy daze immediately. Bin stiffens, his arm pressing against Myungjun’s side, seeking immediate reassurance.

Jinwoo’s hand stills against Sanha’s back.

“What…what did you just say?”

Sanha’s fingers curl around the fabric of his pants, but he keeps his face buried in his knees, keeps sobbing, the cries sounding almost broken in the silence that follows Jinwoo’s words.

“It. Is. Com—”

The front door to the tiny one room shed bursts open with a bang and Myungjun jumps, falling forward. Dongmin is spinning, putting himself between the door and Myungjun and Bin while Jinwoo grabs the back of Sanha’s shirt, pulling him back and—

There’s no one there.

Not at first. Until Myungjun looks over, at the chair they placed near the window, for whoever was on lookout duty that night.

“Min—Minhyuk?” Bin’s voice is timid, tender, and terrified. Myungjun doesn’t think it’s fair.

Not when Minhyuk is just sitting there, elbow resting on the ledge of the window as he stares out of it, head turned away from them. He doesn’t even look at the open door, at the inky blackness darkening the doorway, too opaque, _it’s too opaque_ , Myungjun’s thoughts scream at him.

Minhyuk stirs, at Bin’s voice. He turns, slowly, so slowly.

Sanha cries, “I’m so sorry.”

Minhyuk blinks at them and his eyes are an inky, bottomless black. Myungjun’s heart catches in his throat.

“Hyuk?” Bin tries again, more desperate this time. Myungjun can feel him shaking like a leaf against his side.

Myungjun thinks, _no, no, no_. His brain can’t wrap around what the hell is happening, not even when—

Minhyuk stands, abruptly, and the chair falls, hits the ground so so hard, the resounding _crash_ echoing around them. Myungjun flinches.

There is something there, beyond the door. Something that makes all the hairs along his skin stand on end, that makes his heart crawl up his throat, beating so hard, he thinks it’ll burst. Dongmin’s fingers curl around Myungjun’s, clutching him so tightly, as if he is holding on for dear life.

“Please, don’t.” Sanha chokes out, desperate, pained, crying and crying and crying.

And Minhyuk just steps closer, closer to the door, closer to them, and he reaches and Myungjun yanks Bin back behind him, angles himself in front of them, because he doesn’t know what the fuck is happening, but he can feel himself getting pulled, dragged across the floor, and Minhyuk’s eyes are as black as night, as black as that man he had encountered so long ago with the bloody scythe. Dongmin screams his name but Myungjun slips down onto his back, legs pulled up, as if someone’s just yanked him up by the ankle. He is being  _dragged._

All Myungjun can think is, better him than anyone else. All Myungjun can see is black holes for eyes where Minhyuk’s kind ones once were.

“ _Stop_.” Bin grabs Myungjun from under his shoulders, attempting to wrench him back, but Myungjun is being pulled towards the open door, the darkness, and it’s so fucking—

The door slams shut. Myungjun drops, hitting the ground hard, a gasp falling from his lips as pain shoots up his back, his chest heaving with each breath. Gingerly, Myungjun sits up, blinking at the door.

Minhyuk sits with his back against the door, breathing heavily, fingers curled into tight, tight fists.

Sanha won’t stop crying and Jinwoo’s the first to move, the first to wrap him up in his arms and shush him, wary eyes pinned on Minhyuk. Dongmin is at his back, wrapping warm arms around him, touching him everywhere, fingers trembling as he lugs him back, away from the door, from Minhyuk.

“Are you okay?” Dongmin murmurs, right in his ear, his hands still fluttering down any part of Myungjun he can touch, as if he’s just making sure Myungjun is just fully _there_. There and okay and not hurting. Myungjun curls his fingers above Dongmin’s heart, finding solace there.

Myungjun can’t find his voice, for the second time in his life, he is speechless. So, he just nods, over and over again, swallowing down the lump growing in his throat. He can feel Dongmin’s rapid heartbeat under his fingers. Myungjun tries to pat his chest to a slower rhythm, to calm him, though he knows it won’t work.

“What the fuck.” Bin stares at Minhyuk, his voice rising, trembling with both anger and trepidation.

Minhyuk looks up and his eyes flicker, they _change_ , tendrils of black pooling in his eyes, getting bigger and bigger, pulsing almost, as if his eyes are alive and they have a mind of their own.

Minhyuk’s face though, tells a different story. His mouth falls open, his brows furrowed, and he stares Bin, hands raised as if he is praying. His chin quivers as he whispers, voice hoarse, “I don’t know what—what’s happening to me?”

Bin sits back on his heels. Minhyuk’s eyes go back and forth, between dark black and a normal dark brown. There is screeching beyond the door, the sound of metal grinding on metal making chills creep up and down Myungjun’s spine as he takes in Minhyuk’s slumped figure.

“He’s under their control.” Sanha hiccups. “He lures the fog to us. It’s his job. I heard them talk about it when I—when I…I don’t know. I just remembered hearing it.”

Myungjun’s brain hurts as he looks between Sanha and Minhyuk. Minhyuk looks so confused and Sanha’s eyes are so red.

Slowly, Jinwoo untangles himself from Sanha, slowly, he gives Sanha a cautious onceover and he says, “Then what about you? You two have been together all this time, Sanha.”

“I don’t—don’t know.” Sanha whimpers.

“It’s the eyes.” Dongmin finally speaks up, his voice _right there_ , right beside Myungjun’s ear, his arms tightening around Myungjun “Sanha doesn't have it, but I think Minhyuk’s…fighting it.”

Minhyuk whimpers, his nodding frantic. His eyes turn the blackest of blacks, a sudden pulse, and there is a heavy tension in the air. But then it disappears, it drops away, and his kind eyes return, filled with disorientation.

Slowly, so slowly, Bin scoots forward, ignoring the outstretched arms trying to stop him. Bin reaches out, movements slow and tentative, as if Minhyuk is a wild deer, and places a hand on Minhyuk’s bent knee. Minhyuk seems to shudder under the touch, shaking his head, moving away. Bin just moves closer, murmurs something that sounds horribly like _you won’t hurt me_.

They wait out the night like that, tension blanketing over them, and Dongmin does not let go of him. Myungjun doesn’t want him to. He just stares at Minhyuk, unable to look away, because Minhyuk could _lose_ control any moment and Myungjun will need to lunge forward and pull Bin away. Myungjun won’t be able to live with himself if anyone else gets hurt. Jinwoo seems to have the same idea, his limbs tense, ready to move at any given moment. The noises outside the shed is disquieting, it’s everything Myungjun has ever feared dragging on and on for hours while they are trapped in a tiny space, unable to escape, blind to exactly what awaits them outside. Myungjun is terrified and he does not want Dongmin to ever let go of him.

(Myungjun knows, right then, that he loves Dongmin. He just can’t say it, not now, not under these circumstances. There is too much fear, too much tension and doom, driving them. Myungjun can’t do anything but stare at Minhyuk anyway.

His fingers tighten around Dongmin’s arm and Myungjun wonders if Dongmin understands. Dongmin leans down and gently presses a kiss under Myungjun’s ear. Another to the top of Myungjun’s head.

Myungjun just refuses to say _I love you_ as a goodbye.)

So, all they can do, now, is hold on and wait out the night.

Just wait.

(Myungjun spells out _I love you_ along the back of Dongmin’s hands, over and over and over again, for hours, though, just in case.)

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr @chestnutheadkyungsoo if you wanna talk!
> 
> Writing angst for Astro somehow hurts worse than writing angst for any other group D: I'm sorry sjnfdllaksd
> 
>  
> 
> Here's bonus dialogue that totally belongs in this universe somewhere but it’s one of those incorrect quotes so I feel like that’s plagiarizing or something:  
> Jinwoo: So, do you guys have pet names for each other?  
> Myungjun: No! Pet names are cheesy and gross.   
> Jinwoo:   
> Jinwoo: Myungjun, what do bees make?  
> Myungjun: Honey?  
> Dongmin, from the other room: Yeah?  
> Jinwoo: Don’t ever lie to my face ever again.


End file.
